Back to primitive technology,
I left my phone behind,
Suffering from too much stress
I've got a muddled mind.

I struggle to remember
How to use a pen,
I've totally forgotten
The what, the how, the when.

I'm glad I carry primitives
Like pen and notebook here,
It saves me from connecting
From those who'd bend my ear.

Like crashing bores and small talkers
Who really want to chat,
About their sad and mundane lives,
The news and tittle tat.

I scribble as I ride the train,
I bag a single seat,
The seat that saves you meeting
Those you don't want to meet.

Maybe they'll be interesting
To earwig or to sketch,
Maybe I'll write a verse about
Some poor, adjacent wretch.

I really must do this again,
Leave my phone at home,
Use primitive technology
To write a bright, trite poem ( contrived rhyme owned and celebrated!

24.04.2017